As a little girl, Baljit Dhillon Vikram Singh would accompany her father to the India-Pakistan border where he would stand and weep silently by the rail line. He would point towards the west and say, "Oh! Everything is over there, on the other side. Lahore, Lahore! Nanikie, Nanikie!" Mrs. Vikram Singh was born Baljit Kaur Dhillon in the early 1940s in the village of Nanikie near Lahore. Her father was a prominent landlord. The family owned horses, cattle, sheep, goats, chickens as well as mango groves. Mrs. Vikram Singh was a fair girl and was lovingly referred to as "Cheena Bawa" (Chinese Doll). She was the eldest of the three children, with two younger brothers. She attended the Queen Mary School for a few months in 1947. But the social tension in Lahore kept growing. One night she was woken up by her mother putting all her jewelry, money, and valuables in a vault that was located between the walls. She put all three children in the family jeep and they headed for Amritsar.
On the journey, Mrs. Vikram Singh saw the dead lying in ditches along the road and floating in the canals. She clearly remembers the limbs of the butchered bodies. Even now, she says, the images are vivid. Her mother tried to cover her daughter's eyes with her dupatta to protect her from the scenes. They reached her maternal grandparent's house in Amritsar safely. Later, the family settled in Chak 5A, Sri Ganganagar, Rajasthan. Her father had left everything in Nanikie, her ancestral village, expecting to return in a few days. But that day never came. Her father was allotted a small amount of barren land in the Punjab, in lieu of the hundreds of acres left behind. Overnight her family became refugees living off the land, eating turnips and saag, wearing simple clothes and riding bullock carts and camels instead of in jeeps and cars. The family worked very hard to make ends meet. Her father was a great believer in education and sent all three of his children to boarding school in Nainital. Mrs. Vikram Singh completed her matriculation from All Saints School in 1958 and was married in 1959. The match was made by her parents. Mrs. Vikram Singh and her husband have four daughters and migrated to United States in 1969 when her husband, who was a researcher, lost his job. Mrs. Vikram Singh babysat for 50 cents an hour while living in California with her daughters. Today, she continues to reside in California, working in home renovation, running her businesses and caring for her ten grandchildren. Her father, a strong proponent of education for all, would have been very proud, she says, to know that all four granddaughters have graduated from top universities. All ten grandchildren continue to pursue higher education and professional careers.

Mrs. Khalida Ghousia Akhtar was born on November 7th, 1937 in Jammu, Kashmir. Mrs. Akhtar’s family can trace their family history at least a hundred years back to her grandparents. Mrs. Akhtar’s family is of Rajput descent: her grandfather and his brothers were warriors. Mrs. Akhtar’s Rajput ancestors, descendants of royalty and known for their bravery, had helped the British beat the local people, and in return, they had been given huge lands that they had willed to their descendants. They were the type of people who valued history and bravery more than wealth. Mrs. Akhtar describes an indepdent in which her ancestors, four brothers, had been told to race their horses as far as they could from dawn to dusk, and all the lands that they traversed would be their property. They weren’t very religious people and didn’t want their father’s lands. When someone came to have them sign papers to give away their lands to her, they asked her servant where the rifle on his shoulder came from. He said he found it on the land, and they recognized it as belonging to their ancestors—this rifle is still in Mrs. Akhtar’s family’s ownershipd. They signed away this enormous property simple to retrieve this ancestral rifle. Moreover, Mrs. Akhtar’s grandmother was from Tashkent, Russia from before WWI. During the first World War, they moved to the state of Kashmir. Mrs. Akhtar’s grandfather was from Jalinder, Punjab, but he was posted in Jammu in the legal department. At the time, Kashmir had two capitals: Jammu, which was the primary capital, and Srinagar, which was the summer capital. Kashmir was a Muslim majority state with a Hindu king, Maharaja Hari Singh. This was a king that everyone respected, Mrs. Akhtar recalls. They felt honored to have him as a king because he seemed to truly care for his people, even if it put himself at risk. Mrs. Akhtar shares that two of her grandparents died of the black plague, which was common and quickly spreading I the area from lack of hygiene and disease carrying vermin. Maharaja Hari Singh would go through the back alleyways and small streets himself, on foot and on horse with his pant legs rolled up to his knees, to see how people were doing and if the hygiene of his kingdom was being properly handled. His advisors would repeatedly caution him not to go, lest he get the plague himself, but he was concerned more about his people than himself. He personally made sure that the streets were sprinkled with a layer of limestone to counteract the plague. Other than standing with his people during difficult times, he also joined peoples of all faiths during times of festivities and holidays; Mrs. Akhtar remembers that he would stand with the Muslims during their Eid prayers and celebrations. Kashmir seemed be happy and well cared for under the Maharaja Hari Singh.
Mrs. Akhtar’s own family was also quite strongly involved with the politics of Kashmir: her father’s older brother, her thaya, was Chaudhry Ghulam Abbas, the man who would eventually become the Supreme Head, the akin to the Governor General, of Azad Jammu and Kashmir after the 1947 Partition and the struggle that would ensue in trying to allocate Kashmir. Mr. Abbas was very well known in the political circles of South Asia at the time—he was good friends with Jawahar Lal Nehru, Liaqat Ali, and Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the two men who would become the leaders of the new states of India and Pakistan respectively. Mr. Abbas was good friends with another political leader of Kashmir, Sheikh Abdullah; however, soon, the friends and political allies founds themselves on the opposite side of a major issue that still sends ripples of political turmoil and violence in the area: Which new country should Kashmir join? While Kashmir’s leader was a Hindu, it was a Muslim majority state, and Muslim majority states that bordered the soon-to-be Pakistan area were generally joining Pakistan; conversely, Kashmir also bordered India, and it had a Hindu leader, so what would be his place in a Muslim-led country? Sheikh Abdullah was of this latter view, believing that Kashmir should go to India; whereas, Chaudhry Ghulam Abbas, Mrs. Akhtar’s thaya uncle, was of the view that Kashmir should join Pakistan. When Mr. Abbas was released from jail, despite their political differences Mr. Abdullah was the one who helped him get into Pakistan: he would be taken safely with military personnel; however, he would have to be blindfolded.
Mrs. Akhtar shares the poignant and personal story of Chaudhry Ghulam Abbas’s daughter, Mrs. Akhtar’s own cousin, and her abduction. A few weeks before the Partition, Mrs. Akhtar’s family members realized that the political tensions in Kashmir were increasing daily and that it might be safer for them to leave the country. Several of Mrs. Akhtar’s family extended family members were escorted with Sikh army trucks to Pakistan—but only 12 or 13 miles from the border, everyone from all of these trucks was unloaded. All the men on the trucks from the ages of 14 to 50 are slaughtered right then and there; all the girls from the ages of 10 to 40 are abducted, including Mrs. Akhtar’s Rahat, the daughter of Chaudhry Ghulam Abbas. When his 17-year-old daughter was abducted, Mrs. Akhtar’s uncle was in jail because of his political views. When he got out of jail, Mr. Abbas did everything he could to retrieve his daughter, and although his friend Mr. Nehru was his political opponent, he would still call and apologize to Mr. Abbas about his daughter’s abduction. He also helped in the efforts to retrieve Rahat, saying that these types of things were not supposed to happen. Once Rahat’s kidnapper, a Hindu man by the name of Jagdeesh, realized that she was the daughter of a political honcho, he decided to marry here. It was eight long years before Mr. Abbas’s family was able to locate their precious Rahat, but by that time, she was living in an Indian village with her husband as the mother of three Hindu children. In fact, she had been re-cultured as a Hindu woman as well. She told her family, “I don’t want to go back. I am settled here. Jagdeesh is taking care of me and my kids. I can’t leave my kids behind.” Still, some of her family insisted on at least being allowed to visit her—and they did. She welcomed them but begged, “Please don’t touch this subject of me returning anymore. I know this culture now.”
Mrs. Akhtar’s thaya, Mr. Abbas, wanted to meet Jagdeesh, but he feared that he’d be shot; Mr. Abbas, however, wanted integrate Jagdeesh into his family. Mr. Abbas said, “No, I don’t want to shoot you—I want to bring you and your family to Pakistan,” where they had migrated by the time, “so my family can be all together again.” In 1955, Pakistan offered open visas for Indians to attend a cricket match in Lahore. Mr. Abbas told Jagdeesh and his family to take advantage of this visa and come to Pakistan—ad they did. First, Rahat came, then her children, and finally Jagdeesh. She was sort of made Muslim again. Her children and her husband were given Muslim names: Jagdeesh became Khalid. None of the family, however, was happy in Pakistan. As former Hindus, they weren’t accepted as truly Muslim; even Rahat herself was no longer accepted, and she cried all the time. During the wars of 1965 ad 1971 between Pakistan and India, Jagdeesh was under constant observation; because no one trusted him and his loyalty to Pakistan, it was difficult for him to get and keep a job. Rahat and Jagdeesh had three more kids, but two of their six children went crazy because no one in their society accepted. People accepted the songs, eager to marry their daughters into good families, but no one wanted their sons to marry to daughters from a former Hindu family.
In that convoy of twenty trucks protected by Sikh soldiers transporting Muslims from Indian to Pakistani territory, there were two more members of Mrs. Akhtar’s family that survived: her uncle and his wife—who was also Rahat’s mother sister. Mrs. Rahat’s aunt, who was 22 or 23 three at the time, was abducted by a person who took her to his home. As she sat there, his father walked by and he recognized him. The kidnapper’s father was a friend of her own father—they book did decorative paintings together. From that point onwards, her father’s friend treated her like his own daughter, and he made sure that she was safely taken to Lahore. Once there though, she had no way of reaching her family, but she was a smart young woman, and she announced her name and location on the radio a few times—“I am so-and-so. Where is my husband? I am in the Jesus-Mary Convent”—until a family friend was able to alert her family to come fetch her. When that refugee truck convoy was attacked, Mr. Akhtar’s uncle, ran and hid under a nearby bridge. He said he stayed there for a day or two; he would spend all night walking way from the bridge, but still wake up under it, in the same place. A former servant of Mrs. Akhtar’s family found him and took him to join the rest of his family in Pakistan. By the time they reached there, they were in terrible shape, but slowly Mrs. Akhtar’s family would reach Pakistan.
Mrs. Akhtar is very attached to her extended family because they lived together for many years before (and eventually after) the Partition; her family divided its time between three main cities in Kashmir. Mrs. Akhtar’s father was an inspector of police, and he and his six brothers all lived together in the same house, maintained by her uncle who was a foreign-educated, well-off engineer. As a child, Mrs. Akhtar spent much of her time between Bhadarva, Ranbeer Singh Pura, and Hiranagar. Bhadarva is were she spent a majority of her childhood; in order to reach Bhadarva, which was 200 miles from the main capital of Jammu, her family would rent a bus to a middle city, Batowt, where they would sometimes spend the night. From Batowt, once the path got too narrow, they would take horses on a 12-hour journey. Ranbeer Singh Pura was only 12 miles from Jammu, and Mrs. Akhtar studied there in third grade. Hiranagar was a three-hour bus ride from Jammu; in order to reach it, they had to cross a large river by going around it.
Mrs. Akhtar was Batowt when, at the age of nine, she heard that the Partition had occurred, and her family began their migration journey. Although she wasn’t very political conscious at that time, she remembers that it was after the announcement that people in their region started to turn against each other. The Sikhs in the region attacked their house in Jammu. Because they were a part of Chaudhry Ghulam Abbas’s family, they were under strict observation and not supposed to leave the kingdom state—but they new that they would danger if they didn’t. Mrs. Akhtar’s family took their bus to Jammu, but they didn’t go to their Uncle Abbas’s house, where they usually stayed—they went to a hotel instead. One of their Hindu servants/friends, Mouni, came to their hotel room. Panicked, he told them, “They’re watching you. On the side of your house, it says, ‘Your house will be raided, and you will be killed.’” Mouni told the Mrs. Akhtar’s family to leave the city and go to Ranbeer Singh Pura, which was only 12 miles from the Pakistani border. They stayed there for a week. Her whole packed their few belongings in only four suitcases and packed into four tongas to go to the Pakistani border, which was only two hours away.
Once there, in the middle of the night, Mrs. Akhtar’s father and uncle patrolled and scouted the area to figure out how to enter Pakistan undetected. The best time to cross the border would be between 10 AM and 2 PM, when some of the officers took their lunch. During that time, the whole extended family ran the three miles to cross the border and reach the closest village on the Pakistani side of the border. Mrs. Akhtar remembers that all the women were crying, and her father and uncle were telling them to save their tears for later and just run; everyone was carrying children who were too young to ran fast enough, including herself. Mrs. Akhtar was carrying her one-year-old sister while others were carrying her five-year-old brother and her six-and-a-half-year-old brother. On the way, they drank dirty pond water to survive. Mrs. Akhtar’s father and uncle paid three months rent upfront to a landlord to get a place to stay for their family. Mrs. Akhtar recalls that banks were still accepting checks at least two months after the Partition because that was the currency that her family used to pay people and to withdraw money. To avoid arousing suspicion from their neighbors that they were political refugees on the run, they acted like they lived there. They had no food, so they boiled black stones in clay pots. A few poor land tillers came forward to offer them blankets and food. When an army truck passed through the area, full of ammunition to transport to Kashmir in the ensuing battle to follow for ownership of this northern state, Mrs. Akhtar’s father and her uncle managed to convince the truck divers, after paying them handsomely, to let their family board their empty trucks. The trucks took them to Sialkot, where Mrs. Akhtar’s family would stay for in a hotel for a few days before all 25 or so of them would move for 6-8 years to a villa in Sargoda, given to them in exchange for their lost properties and homes now in India Occupied Kashmir. (Note that Pakistanis now call their portion of Kashmir Azad (Free) Kashmir and the India part of Kashmir Occupied Kashmir—and Indians similarly call their portion of Kashmir Azad Kashmir and the Pakistani portion Occupied Kashmir.) Mrs. Akhtar’s thaya Chaudhry Ghulam Abbas would be moved to Rawalpini, the army headquarters of Pakistan, where he would be make the Supreme Head of Azad Kashmir, Pakistan.
After the Partition, Mrs. Akhtar would spent much of her time living her uncle and his British, Jewish wife, Olga, because their home was closer to better school—this couple would become like a second set of parents for Mrs. Akhtar. Ogla Auntie, especially, was like a second mother to Mrs. Akhtar, who calls her a Sufi saint; she would always encourage the girls in their family to student to their heart’s content. Mrs. Akhtar’s mother and father also supported her a great deal, by providing her with resources and strong character traits. When she was a child, Mrs. Akhtar’s father would bribe her to do things by offering her short, ten page long stories to read. Mrs. Akhtar realls a Kashmiri folk tale about “Lil Dilli,” a patient, saintly woman. When she got married and when to her in-laws, her parents would ask her, “What did they give you to eat?” When she wouldn’t answer, they would lift her stomach flap and see nothing. The pious woman that Lil Dilli was, she prayed and asked God to make the stomach flab smooth and un-openable, so that her mother-in-law wouldn’t be dishonored because of how little she had been able to feed her. By the age of 16, she had read through her father’s library, and so he began teacher her to use a revolver, how to fire, and how to ride a horse, the police offer that he was. Mrs. Akhtar says that her mother taught her compassion while her father taught her confidence and courage.
Perhaps as a result of Auntie Olga’s support, Mrs. Akhtar went on to complete medical school, with an emphasize in gynecology and surgery, and open her own clinic in the Korangi area of Karachi, the city she moved to after she married her husband. After she got married, Mrs. Akhtar put all the wedding got she had received as a part of her dowry and as presents into the bank, and she took a loan against it. She remembers that people cried at her doing this, but she said the gold did not matter—she needed the capital to create her clinic in this underserved part of Pakistan. Mrs. Akhtar’s clinic, named Khalida Hospital after her, soon became quite popular in the area, and she would see upwards of 200 patients a day. Although she had three doctors working with her and a staff of 37 personnel, including nurses and others, under her, her patients and community only wanted to be treated by her. Soon, people in her community were coming to her not only for medical matters, but social and economic ones as well, writing her letters from as far as Dubai to seek her advice and opinion on personal matters. In the beginning, before she was able to afford a car, she commuted 2.5 hours daily by public bus to reach her clinic. She was the first lady doctor in a ten-mile radius in that region. Although she worked there for 11 years, she had to stop because she couldn’t afford to pay political parties, like the MQM, the bribes they demanded to keep from harassing her clinic. When she finally had to give up her practice, she donated her clinic to Al-Shifa, a hospital and organization dedicated to handicapped children in Karachi.
These days, Mrs. Akhtar lives with her daughter in the U.S. Here, she spent her time volunteering at Kaiser Permanente and John Muir Hospitals. She also enjoys her time painting, writing poetry, making pottery, reading, drawing/sketching, playing piano, among other activities—she says she’s finally able to do all those things that she wanted to do when she was ten and couldn’t because the Partition, that she personally believes never should have happened, made her grow up too fast. “United,” Mrs. Akhtar says, quoting the first President of India, “South Asia could have been the largest democracy. The people there have lived together for at least 1000 years, and religion shouldn’t be the basis for nationhood because it allows for the possibility of extremism to creep in.” Even now, Mrs. Akhtar’s family cannot return to India Occupied Kashmir, although they can visit India. Mrs. Akhtar truly hopes she is allowed to return to her homeland and visit it one day. She shares a message for future generations in memory of her own parents: “Live your life every day with courage, confidence, and compassion. They are the three things that have helped me all my life. Keep your mind open, and never fear what tomorrow brings—refine yourself and all of humanity.”

Naseem Mirza Changezi was born in the year 1910 in his ancestral home at Pahari Imli, near Churi Walan in Jama Masjid, in Old Delhi and was a freedom fighter, and fought alongside the likes of Bhagat Singh and Rajguru for Independence from colonial powers. He has been profiled and documented numerous times, by leading scholars and academics of history owing to his deep knowledge and memory bandwidth about his Persian roots and the Mughal history of Northern India. He says, “The study of my genealogy tells me that successively 23 generations of mine hail from the family of Genghis Khan, the founder of the great Mongolian empire. My ancestors travelled from Mongol to Iran, and then to Afghanistan. By that time Babur, who lay the stone of Mughal empire in India, asked his ancestors to leave Afghanistan within two or three months. The two clans were both Mughals but Babur’s side was Timuri Mughals and we were Changezi Mughals, so Babur did not want a fight and loss of soldiers, hence, he asked my ancestors to peacefully leave."
He then adds that, his family left Afghanistan and moved to the area of Sindh and as they settled there, the forces of Mirza Jaani Beg Khan and Mirza Ghazi Beg Khan attacked the region of Sindh, which was being ruled by Jam Feroze, who was the last ruler of Samma dynasty. Simultaneously the region of India and neighbouring states (Hindustan) had just started to be ruled by the Mughal ruler Humayun. Then, by the time Akbar’s rule came about and he asked his ancestors to become equal stakeholders in ruling Hindustan, but his ancestors refused. Then Akbar preceded to send an army of two lakh personnel under the leadership of Abdul Rahim Khan-i-Khana and they fought for almost a year, and his ancestors lost the war. His ancestors were then brought to Akbar and he dismissed them to stay in Agra. He recalls, “When Shahjahan, in the early 17th century decided to shift his capital from Agra to Delhi, my ancestors also came along. They built a palatial palace right in front of the Delhi Gate of the majestic Red Fort (Lal Quila). And since then, we have lived in Delhi.”
He says with utmost pride, “My family fought for the Independence of this country and has been doing so for the last 150 years.” His great-grandfather was the deputy collector working for the British crown, but, he participated in the first revolt of Independence in 1857, and in turn was awarded life imprisonment. He says, “There had been various wars for Independence prior to 1857, within the kingdoms, but the reason it is known as the First War of Independence is because this was the first time that the masses at large took part in it.” He also adds that, today the Hindu dominated area like Sitaram Baazar in Old Delhi, was earlier a Muslim area with many old palaces that were of the Muslim feudal landlords, which was later vacated. His mother passed away when he was just 2 years old, but his father decided to never remarry. He recalls an interesting a very interesting incident about the religious relations between the two communities prior to the Partition through the motif of parrots. He says that keeping parrots as domestic pets was a very widely accepted norm during those times, and the Hindu women would teach Urdu poetry and couplets to the their parrots, whereas the Muslim women would teach poetry and couplets from Hindu literary texts to their parrots. When he was four years old, he remembers going to the Ganges river with Hindu families and would also celebrate Holi and Diwali with them, and would be done so respectful of each other’s boundaries.
He remembers the Indian lawyer, and philanthropist Rash Behari Bose, who was the key person in organising the Indian National Army. His work was to organises and agitate the young revolutionaries against the colonial power. He says that, “In those times, the young men of the historic Anglo-Arabic school of Ajmeri Gate would participate heavily in this movement initiated by the Indian National Army (INA). May father was one of them and I clearly recall that he would tell me how he was taught to make explosives and bombs that could be used for revolts. My father along with Rash Behari Bose would be on the forefront of such activities, and I grew up amongst all their idealism and members.” He recalls the interesting Delhi Conspiracy Case which also involved his father, “When Lord Hardinge’s howdah, the then governor-general of India, was passing through the streets of Chandni Chowk, Bose was dressed in the garb of a woman, and my father had put his ladder on the backside of Company Bagh. Bose then took out a homemade bomb and threw it on Lord and Lady Hardinge but it only ended up injuring them through splinters.” He says that they were told not to come under the scanner of the police, and he and his contemporaries all hailed from Anglo-Arabic school, who participated actively in the freedom movement. He says they worked under the leadership of Jugal Kishore Khanna, who lived in Dariba Kalan, and was associated with the Congress and later the INA. He says, “We would work as secret messengers and would take old cloth bags and tie it around us with some pieces of silver and gold and then walk on the streets pretending to be sellers, and shout out aloud if anybody had silver to sell. The person would then come down and take away the message from us, and that is how we would not get caught.” He recalls that the Congress workers who were under the leadership of Asif Ali, later came under Brahma Prakash who went onto become the first Chief Minister of Independent India.
He has continued to live in his ancestral home for 106 years now, and was in that same house when the Partition took place. At the time of the Partition, he was 37 years old, and had an illegal pass by a Hindu name ‘Ram Kishan’ which helped him to travel around the city and not be contained by the curfew that would be put on the Muslims in Delhi. He says, “Many killings took place during that time. My work would be to make a daily trip to Nizammudin station where the trains would be leaving for Pakistan, and people would travel from Delhi, and they would get injured during those travels so I would escort them till the camp at Jama Masjid so that they could be quickly treated. The trains would leave from Old Delhi railway station, and the Muslims were treated very badly. The wagons that were provided by the Corporation to transport cattle, were used by the Muslim refugees to load their own belongings and they would pull it themselves and go to camps at Purana Qila.” He says that Partition was solely a result of various political forces, and stresses on the love both the religious communities had for each other before the Partition took place.
Post Partition, he says that in Old Delhi the refugees who came later put up their own businesses on the pavement right in front of the shops, and started selling the same products at a lesser cost which affected their business. This was one of the major points of discord. He says, “The decision to stay on in India, and not migrate to Pakistan was very simple for me and my family because my ancestors had through the generations fought on this land. My father fought for the Independence of this country, so there was no question of leaving our own home. Although, my father did receive many persuasive letters from authorities in the newly formed Pakistan to come there. However, his father sat him down and asked him to write a reply, in which he clearly recalls that he wrote, ‘Do rivers like the Ganges or Yamuna flow in Karachi? Does Lal Quila stand on that land? Is there my beloved Jama Masjid there? If yes, then I will come in a jiffy. If no, then don’t ever write to me again.’ Although, his father never stopped him or any of his siblings from migrating but none of them did. But today he is pained at the current state of affairs, and completely opposite to what they had hoped for when fighting for Independence. He angrily adds, “The nation today might be independent, but it is not even close to what we had dreamed of as young revolutionaries.”
He completed his matriculation from Punjab University. He was an ace hockey player and was selected by Delhi Hockey Association in 1942, played with Dhyanchand and participated in various tournaments, and visited Karachi and Lahore before the Partition took place. One of his friends named Qayyum, who was also a great hockey player migrated to Pakistan after the Partition. He says that all his friends and contemporaries who passed away and today, he is the only now left who saw all the incidents unfolding in front of him. Today, he lives with his son and wife.
He relays a very important and historical memory of his life wherein he was given the task of providing food and shelter to Sardar Bhagat Singh for two months, when he had in the process of planning to explode bombs in the Central Legislative Assembly. He says, “There are many who laid down their lives for the country, but there are few like who had the grit and determination of Bhagat Singh. He always wanted to be a martyr for the country and was ready to lay down his life in a matter of minutes if it would get freedom from the colonial rulers.” He then pauses to sadly reflect and says, “But this is definitely not the freedom which any of us wanted. I never wanted to die, because I wanted to live and work for Independent India.” He says that Partition shouldn’t have taken place as both the countries would have been stronger united in all spheres of development.

Mr. Shafi Refai was born on May 27th, 1942 in Surat, Gujarat, India. His ancestors hail from the region of Iraq. In the 18th century, the migrated towards the South Asian Subcontinent, and since then, his family has always been in the Gujarat region—until some of them more recently migrated to the United States. Mr. Refai shares that his ancestors may have migrated to the Subcontinent because under the Mughal Empire, the region was a melting pot for different types of people. Once Mr. Refai’s family migrated to India, they established the Refai Sufi Order based on tasawwuf, or spirituality rather than mere physical rituals and practice. His family can trace 40 generations of their forefathers directly back to the Prophet Muhammad; they keep this history of the names of their links to the Prophet within their family and they carry it within their historical family name: Syed. Mr. Refai’s family received the name from their famous 11th century Sufi forefather: Ahmed Kabir Rifai. Ahmed ar-Rifai was a humble man, despite his wealth, and he was known for founding the Refai Sufi Order in present-day Iraq.
Mr. Refai’s paternal grandfather’s untimely death is what made his own childhood more than of a prince than of a Sufi scholar. Mr. Refai’s grandfather, the household patriarch, was a Sufi leader and scholar. In fact, Mr. Refai’s home was a Sufi khanqa, a school of sorts for lay people; however, Mr. Refai’s grandfather passed away when his son, Mr. Refai’s father, was only five years old. After the death of his father, Mr. Refai’s father was raised by his grandmother. Mr. Refai’s great-grandmother was the daughter of the navaab, the Muslim king, of Surat, Gujarat. Because of his father’s upbringing in a navaab house, Mr. Refai’s own childhood was spent playing with Surat’s royalty—his cousins and second cousins—when the navaab at the time would visit their family. Mr. Refai’s maternal grandfather also had links to royalty: he was the secretary of the maharaja, the Hindu king, of Baroda (present-day Vadoda). His mother’s side of the family were Syeds and mirs. Mr. Refai shares that when the maharaja of Baroda wanted to marry the maharaja of Maysur’s daughter, he had Mr. Refai’s maternal grandfather send the proposal to the family.
Mr. Refai grew up in a joint family with his parents and his three siblings as well as his uncles and aunties. The men generally worked outside the home while the ladies took care of the housekeeping. Mr. Refai is the oldest son in his family; he has an older sister, and two younger brothers and a younger sister. Because of their shared home, Mr. Refai grew up in a warm, close-knit family environment. He shares that even though they were from Gujarat, Mr. Refai’s family was Urdu speaking at home. The children learned several languages at school: Urdu, their native language; Gujurat, the state language; Hindi, the national language; English, the global/colonial language; and their choice of Persian or Sanskrit, traditional/historical languages. Mr. Refai shared that he and his siblings took Persian because when their family migrated from Iraq, they transitioned from Arabic to Persian before eventually speaking Urdu. He discovered this while examining the books that his family kept with them throughout the years, although he confesses that many of them are now lost, disintegrated due to bookworms, or indecipherable because no one in his family speaks that level of Arabic. As a young man, Mr. Refai especially enjoyed the Urdu poetry of Iqbal and Ghalib.
As a child, Mr. Refai would enjoy many activities and holidays with his friends, family, and family friends. As a young man, for example, he particularly enjoyed played cricket outside their home. He would occasionally visit a few mosques with his family for daily prayers and weekly Friday prayers. Sometimes, his family would visit Doomas, a seaside city eight miles from their home where they would enjoy the water and play in the side. Eid was Mr. Refai’s favorite holiday. On this far, Mr. Refai’s family would make biryani, goat curry, tikka, and seekh. Family and friends would visit their home to share in the food and festivities. The children received small cash presents. Another holiday Mr. Refai enjoyed celebrating as a child in India, although he shares that he hasn’t celebrated it since arriving to the U.S. in ’71, is Diwali. On this celebrative day marking the Hindu new year, firecrackers were lit, and people enjoyed themselves. Mr. Refai would visit his grandfather’s Hindu friends with him on Diwali; they would be given firecrackers to light and sweets to consume. Surat was actually known for its sweets like ghaani and barfi. Mr. Refai also loved the kite-flying holiday of Utraaon on January 14th, when the city would be filled with young and old flying kites. Movies though, Mr. Refai explains, were the main source of entertainment for his family and young people in those days, and his family loved going to the cinema.
Mr. Refai’s family home was rather large. Besides the khanqa, the lay people’s Sufi school, Mr. Refai’s family’s grounds also included a family cemetery. Near their home was the River Tapti, although the received water from a pipe based water supply system. Sometimes, they had to collect water in an underwater tank for emergency purposes, just in case the pipes were blocked or clogged. Mr. Refai’s family home itself had huge courtyards; the home really consisted of four home together, so that each of Mr. Refai’s paternal grandfather’s sons had their own home. For transportation, Mr. Refai’s family either used the French car that his father bought or the Buick that his grandfather would later purchase. Other times, they used their horse and tonga to get places. At one time, all the people who lived in the home and at the khanqa kept up the tradition of preserving the Refai Sufi Order and school in India; however, Mr. Refai explains, as time when on, people lost touch with being fulltime Sufis. More and more people left home to work and even went abroad, like him. These days, Mr. Refai cherishes the rituals of rational thought more than religious dogma.
In those days, Surat was a small town of only 250,000, but these days Mr. Refai says, the city has changed and grown to a bustling city of five million. Before the Partition, Mr. Refai’s grandfather had been interested in politics, so he had gone over to a small town near by, Randair, where he served as their mayor, but these days, Randair has been incorporated into the larger Surat. Most people in Surat followed the Gregorian calendar, but at home, people might also follow their own religious or ethnic calendar, much in the way that Mr. Refai’s family followed the Hijri Islamic calendar in their homes. They used this calendar to mark and celebrate people’s birthdates. For their birthdays, Mr. Refai’s family would get people cake, flowers, money, and gifts. Surat was a modern enough town with electricity and movie houses. Seller would go through the streets and sells fruits, vegetables, chocolates, and biscuits. The majority Hindu town had good interfaith relations before and after the Partition. For example, the school that Mr. Refai attended with Hindu, Sikh, and Muslim boys began as a madrasa school in a mosque until it eventually became its own entity and transformed into a government sponsored school.
In Mr. Refai’s childhood home, the food that didn’t come from the markets and mundis came from his grandfather’s farms. Mr. Refai’s grandfather owned quite a great deal of land and several properties. He would lease them out to farmers and others, but he also kept some farmland for himself. He particularly enjoyed growing mangos, although he also grew javaar, a grain. Mr. Refai’s family no longer owns these lands though because his grandfather has long since sold them and given up the farms with the grains and fruit that would be directly delivered to their home. In fact, these fresh and homemade traditional foods are what Mr. Refai revealed that he missed most when he first came to the United States; although these days, they are easily accessible.
The Partition was something that Mr. Refai and his family barely noticed. As a child of five, the only strong memory or impression he has from during those years is that his grandfather and his father would sit with friends close to the radio and would listen to news about the Partition and the split that would soon take place in the South Asian Subcontinent. Mr. Refai isn’t aware of any political movements, social upheaval, or chaos in his area of the Gujarat at that time. He does remember that Ghandhi assassination came as a bit of a shock to everyone at his school.
Much has changed since the Partition for Surat and for Mr. Refai as well. Surat no longer has a navaab. All of the children in his immediate and extended family went abroad to the U.K. and the U.S. to study, and so they no longer maintain the old kingdom. As he grew older, Mr. Refai knew that he wanted to go to a country that was more based in rationalism and thought than religion and tradition. After studying civil engineering in India, Mr. Refai applied for an American visa and waited. During this time, he married and moved to Dubai for work, but soon, his visa was accepted, and he left his job in Dubai for San Francisco, where his wife soon joined him as well.
These days, Mr. Refai works as a civil engineer for the City of Oakland, California; when he’s not working, he enjoys reading books in history, politics, and religion—or texts that intersect these three areas. He also enjoys attending events sponsored by the Urdu Academy in the Bay Area, where they hold mushairas, or poetry events focusing on a single poet, their life, and their poetry. He still enjoys the poets from his youth: Ghalib, Iqbal, and Mir.
Mr. Refai’s philosophy, in the words of one he admires, is that “no single people have a monopoly on truth—it is spread everywhere.” Although, Mr. Refai reflects, the goal of the Partition for some was to unite the Muslims into one country, they are now instead divided amongst three countries in the Subcontinent: Pakistan, India, and Bangladesh. Mr. Refai believes that Jinnah himself did not expect that those in power would agree to divide India into two countries; as Mr. Refai sees it, Jinnah simply approached Parliament at the time to ask for rights for Muslims in the new nation that was to be rather than to create a separate nation. Mr. Refai leaves future generations with the following: “We should try to rationalize the world and follow it—not towards our own self-interested but for the interest of all of humanity. […] Most problems in the world today are not God-made, but man-made, and them come from our own selfishness.”

Mrs. Jaya Mehta, nee Jaya Patel, was born in Vadodara, now known as Baroda, India on May 15th, 1933. Because her father was a businessman, her family traveled quite a bit with him between places likes Baroda, Bombay, and even East Africa, where Mrs. Mehta spent a few years of her childhood. Mainly, however, her family lived in Bombay. Hers was a unique family: they had seven siblings from three different mothers. Her father’s first wife had had four children before passing away in childbirth; then her father remarried, but his second wife passed away during the birth of their first child. Mrs. Mehta’s mother had two children and remained the mother for the youngest three-four children. Mrs. Mehta’s elder half sisters were already married by this time, and one had moved away from their family in Bombay to live in Baroda with her husband. Mrs. Mehta’s siblings got along so well with each other—despite their differences in mothers—that they became a role model family for her Gujarati community in Bombay.
Mrs. Mehta cannot speak of her childhood without speaking fondly of her father, Mr. Somabhai Patel. When asked how it was that her various siblings got along so well with each other, without hesitating Mrs. Patel credits her father, in her words the man who helped shaped who she is today. He was a very commensensical and practical man. Every evening, he made sure the whole family had dinner together, and every weekend, he also made sure they went to a drive together either to the beach, which was not so crowded in those days, or to their farmlands, 11,000 acres of primarily cotton. Mr. Patel stressed the importance of an education to both his sons and his daughters, supporting two of his daughters in becoming practicing doctors. The environment in the Patel house was, also quite uniquely, one of morals but not religion, something unheard of in those days. However, because Mr. Patel was well-respected within their community, no one bothered him in hs ways, even when most of his children had small civil ceremonies rather than grand religious weddings. Mr. Patel also instilled a sense of independence and health in his children, telling them that even if they wanted a cup of water, they should fetch it themselves, and they shouldn’t eat street food, but fruits with thick skins only when purchasing food on the street.
Mrs. Mehta herself was not so fond of studying and reading, so one summer, she took a vacation with her sister and Mr. and Mrs. Sevenoaks to Europe by sea to various countries like the United Kingdom and Austria, among others. She speaks of how, even at 19, she would get into amusement parks as a child because of her thin figure—however, she also speaks of how she would get carded when they went to an over-18-only place and would have to carry her passport accordingly. Mrs. Mehta’s hair was a incredibly long when she was young and even into her middle age—it would near reach the ground! She would turn heads wherever she went and catch people’s attention. One time on her European trip, when they were trying to cross the border, the two guards were arguing amongst each other before they approached her in the vehicle. “We can’t decide,” they said to her and her sister, “if you two are twins!” They couldn’t believe it! Mrs. Mehta’s sister’s hair also cascaded down at least to her knees. The Sevenoaks were kind to the girls, making sure to explain local customs to them, like kissing on the hands as a form of greeting, so that they wouldn’t be alarmed as they passed through different countries, like Austria.
During the time of the Partition, Mrs. Mehta says that she herself was not very involved. Her father had a strict rule—education first, everything else after. Thus some of the younger Patel siblings, the students in her family, were even sent away from Bombay to Baroda by her father during that tumultous time to continue studing. Mrs. Mehta recalls though that her elder sisters, who were married and had already completed their studies, were somewhat involved as citizens and activists in the Partition. Following the news and advice of the Indian National Congress, they bought a spinning wheel to spin their yarn and threads to make their own clothing, like Gandhiji was encouraging people to do. They would make themselves simple clothes and wear them until they were tattered all in an effort to make sure they didn’t purchase the British’s mechanically produced cloth. Her sisters would also attend some of the protests and rallies. A few of those, Mrs. Mehta remembers, were right next to their home. The Britsh soldiers and militia would come and beat the legs of those who were injured quite badly. She remembers her father would open their home up to these injured rally and protest attendees and that her family would tend to them and care for them.
Bombay had always been a cosmopolitan city and would always be one, according to Mrs. Mehta, so she didn’t feel that it changed very much after the Partition. The Sindhi population in the city increased, and with them, they brought their love for education and built universities around the city. They were also very good embroidery- men and women, and hence with the influx of their populations, Bombay’s embroidered and designed clothing and styles boomed. All in all, Mrs. Mehta says, the changes were small, but whoever migrated to the big city brought with them all the positives and good things about their culture and shared them with the city and its inhabitants.
Bombay is where Mrs. Mehta has spent the majority of her life. As a child, she enjoyed attending the Kite Flying Festival on the 14th of January where the children would fly kites and eat sweets, like peanut and sesame brittle. She also loved celebrating Garba with her Gujarati community in Bombay. During Garba, Mrs. Mehta would be able to sing, a passion which naturally ignited in her from the tender age of four, and dance dandian, a two-stick spinning dance style; she also loved the little gifts of metal utensils they would receive at the event. Bombay was where Mrs. Mehta dated her husband for six years; it’s where she eventually married her husband; it’s where she sang on the radio and modeled saris; it’s where she had a her daughter; it’s where she decided to learn to sing formally by moving to Baroda to attending a five-year singing program; and it’s where she finally decided, after her husband passed, that she would give up her life in India to move to America to be with her daughter in 2003.
However, Mrs. Mehta has not slowed down one bit since her move to the States. Because of the sense of independence her father instilled in her, she’s learned to adapt, begin new projects, and never be bored. These days, Mrs. Mehta is still quite active: she drives herself, cooks vegetarian meals for her family four days a week, gives the seniors at the India Community Center singing lessons, has a weekly bridge troupe, puts on fundraising Bollywood dance numbers in which she’s often center stage, and is working to collect various memories and stories in to compile her family’s history. Of course, she also manages to share her love with her daugher and two grandchildren.

Zeba Rizvi was born in Badaun, Uttar Pradesh in 1940. Her family traces its roots to Persia, from where most of her forefathers made their way to Badaun and settled. Her grandparents resided in Badaun until they migrated to Pakistan at the time of the Partition, although her own immediate family did not. She will never forget the words of her father, a government officer: "I have made my final decision, we are staying."
Mrs. Rizvi, born Zeba Roshan Raza, had a rather large family with seven siblings. As a child, Mrs. Rizvi recalls that her family had an unusual dynamic. She remembers that the children were encouraged to read and learn about the world, but they weren't allowed to go outside and watch the street entertainment. They could leave the house, but only with a caretaker. Mrs. Rizvi particularly loved her summer holidays, fun and carefree. One of her favorite activities was attending the exhibitions in which sellers from different places would come and showcase their goods. Oftentimes, circuses accompanied these sellers at exhibitions and the whole affair could last up to a month. Perhaps because of their strict household environment, Mrs. Rizvi and her siblings grew up reading quite a bit. When she was a student, Mrs. Rizvi became involved with debating at her school from the sixth grade and into her university years. She excelled and won multiple debating trophies. She recalls that trophies stayed at the school and were put on display there while the medals for participants were taken home. Because of her winning track, her trophies always stayed with her schools. Her excellent reading and debating skills led Mrs. Rizvi to later major in Urdu and begin writing short stories in college.
As a child, Mrs. Rizvi's family included her father, her mother, her siblings, and her amma. Amma was Mrs. Rizvi's family's domestic helper who took care of the children and the household; however, at that time, it was common to not address servants by their names, so instead her family called the woman "mamma," or mother. When she was small, Mrs. Rizvi understood her life as having a "Mummy" and an "Amma." Her Mummy would teach her important life lessons, such as to live within one's means. Mrs. Rizvi's amma took care of her on a daily basis and told her stories from various traditions. The Partition was something that was distant from the minds of Mrs. Rizvi and her siblings. She attributes this to the fact that her family moved out of the Badaun, where her extended family and other Muslim families lived, very early on because of her father's job. As a government official, he had to travel quite a bit for work, and he always took his family with him. Their family always lived in large, beautiful compounds in the Civil Lines, where government officials were housed. Their homes had spacious central courtyards where the family would sleep in the open in the summers, reserving the surrounding rooms for the cold winter months. Their rather large compound would include the surrounding wilderness, sometimes even with the Ganga on one side as when they lived in Ghazipur. In the Civil Lines, Mrs. Rizvi reveals, they were not Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, or Christians, they were considered as government families. She says that there were no religions in friendship, religion was just a reminder to love others.
After Partition, Mrs. Rizvi married Mr. Yusuf Zaki Rizvi. The marriage was an arranged one and he grew to be her lifelong companion. They wed in Lucknow, lived in Raipur for a little while, and moved to Mumbai where they raised their children. During her life, Mrs. Rizvi has enjoyed being a homemaker, a wife, mother to three, and a grandmother to six. She strives to promote friendship and understanding between all people in her daily life. Mrs. Rizvi also volunteered for various NGOs and social organizations. She has guest starred on several All India Radio shows focused on women. These days, Mrs. Rizvi lives with her daughter's family in the United States where she also continues to write short stories inspired by current world events and joyous occasions in her life that she shares with her friends.

Mrs. Leela Mamtani was born in Kandyara town of Nawab Shah District in Pakistan on October 21, 1932. Until the age of fifteen, she lived in Kandyara while her brothers lived in Karachi and Hyderabad. Her father was a prominent landlord and they lived in a huge haveli. The house had various secret cupboards called hoori, which were used to hide valuables. In 1947, the family had to abandon two hoori full of riches. Mrs. Mamtani walks down the memory lane when she describes the family life in Kandyara. Her family had very harmonious relations with Muslims and there were brotherly sentiments. Mrs. Mamtani recalls her mischief from childhood and shares memories with friends Devi, Tilli and Sheila. They used to bunk classes and ran into the orchards for fruits or the ponds and waterfalls.
Mrs. Mamtani mentions a festival Thaddari which was celebrated during the monsoon months. It was not a religious festival but a community celebration when all the families got together for singing and merriment, and exchanged sweet breads. Mrs. Mamtani’s family offered prayers to the water god Darya Shah.
Folk songs were a major part of all revelry- community or religious and all major activities like child birth, marriages, crop harvest. Mrs. Mamtani bursts into a melodious song that the women used to sing overnight during celebrations. Another unique aspect was the intricate embroidery work of Sind province, mostly done by Muslim ladies. The markets in Kandyara were elaborate and segregated according to commodities- cloth, general items and food.
The Indian National Congress, in its bid to raise awareness about the national movement, was popularizing the spinning wheel charkha, which went on to become the symbol of India’s freedom movement. Mrs. Mamtani recalls they had a dedicated period at school every day for learning how to spin the wheel and weave yarn. The Congress organized rallied to ignite the patriotic fervor amongst everyone. With an air of pride for the country, Mrs. Mamtani says, “By the time I was fifteen, I had been to jail twice”.
The months of 1947 that saw British India’s freedom and consequent division of the land were met with hardly any disturbances in Kandyara. Mrs. Mamtani recalls sporadic attacks and night long pelting of stones at her house. By December of 1947, the attacks increased in intensity and the family had collected stones and red chilli powder for protection. On Januray 1, 1948 Mrs. Mamtani’s family decided to leave and took a bus to Hyderabad with all that they could carry.
On their way to the port city of Karachi, the family was robbed off everything. After five days, Mrs. Mamtani boarded a ship with her family for Mumbai. The captain of the ship did not know the directions for Mumbai and he anchored in the middle of nowhere. Mrs. Mamtani remembers the conditions of sea sickness and loss that had gripped everyone. The ship then docked in Kutch in Gujarat.
After moving through several towns the family settled in Ajmer, Rajasthan. After her marriage to Mr. Satram Mamtani in 1952, Mrs. Mamtani moved to Delhi. Her talent in singing was acknowledged by a music director Darshan Singh, and he trained her in modern vocal music. Mrs. Mamtani went onto become a radio singer of repute. She sings in Sindhi, Hindi and Punjabi; and works hard to popularize and preserve Sindhi folk songs. Her radio programs are also broadcasted in Pakistan by the External Affairs Ministry of the government of Pakistan.
In 2009, Mrs. Mamtani was invited by the Urdu Services of the BBC London to visit Sindh. She recalls with nostalgia the love and warmth she received as she travelled across the province. She also visited her old house and hometown. People loved her there and arranged for recording her songs.

Milkha Singh, renowned athlete, shares his story with The Archive, also captured in the film “Bhaag Milkha Bhaag.” Milkha Singh was born in Gobindpura, Kot Addu, in Muzzafargarh district. Kot Addu lies near Multan, and Mr. Singh describes it as a sandy place, with only horses for transportation. Mr. Singh’s forefathers were originally Rajputs from Rajasthan, and were ironsmiths.
Mr. Singh’s father was a small time farmer and had a small land holding. Until grade four, he studied in a mosque. Mr. Singh describes the 1930s, when he used to walk barefoot to his school with his friend. To build up his stamina, he used to run for 10 miles. They spoke Multani language there. Mr. Singh was very fond of wrestling. Inter-community relations were very strong and everyone lived happily.
Mr. Milkha Singh had many siblings. One of Mr. Singh’s brothers was in the army and, around the time of Partition, had warned them that Kot Addu was in danger. He was in grade eight during the time of Partition. One day, a large frenzied mob arrived. Families came together to protect one another. Local leader went to negotiate terms but was shot. Before dawn the next morning, the mob entered the city. There was heavy gunfire and many did not survive. Young Mr. Singh was trying to hide. He remembers seeing his father fight bravely, and finally struck with a sword. When he fell, his father cried, “Bhaag Milkha, bhaag,” pleading him to run away to safety. Buildings were burned and many women took their own lives as to avoid abduction. At the end of the night, Mr. Singh realized that he had lost his entire family, except for his elder sister Hoondi, and the brother in army. Hoondi had managed to escape, with a newborn baby.
Mr. Singh recalls his run from Gobindpura to Kot Addu railway station. His father’s last words ran through his head. He boarded the first train to Multan, which was smeared with blood. He hid under seat for the whole journey.
At Multan, Mr. Singh stayed in the army barracks, where his brother’s wife lived. Later, they took an eight hour long journey in military trucks and crossed the Hussainiwala-Ferozepur border. His elder brother stayed behind in Pakistan, since he was on duty and awaiting orders.
Ferozepur was full of refugees. After some days, Mr. Singh found an abandoned building. To earn for food, Mr. Singh began looking for work. He earned through odd small time jobs by polishing shoes at the barracks in lieu of leftover food. One day, the river flooded and Ferozepur was inundated. Mr. Singh managed to escape the flood and headed for Delhi.
There were thousands of refugees on the Old Delhi railway station. The platforms were covered in refuse. Cholera was spreading. Those times of abject poverty made Mr. Singh very resourceful. Mr. Singh scouted around for petty jobs. He was arrested for traveling without a railway ticket. His sister, whom he had found at the Purana Quila refugee camp, sold off her jewelry for his bail.
Mr. Singh started working as a cleaner at a shop for a monthly salary of ten rupees. He joined school in grade nine but did not continue because of the changes in the mode of education. The army was recruiting and had set up an office in Old Delhi. Mr. Singh applied and was rejected three times. Finally, he got selected in 1952.
His penchant towards running was accidental. In 1953, while he was in the barracks, it was announced that a six mile race would be held and the top ten recruits would be given an extra glass of milk everyday. It was this extra glass that motivated him into winning his first race. He soon got selected for cross country races and was trained by his instructor who was a former runner. This started his career as an athlete.
After his victory at the Commonwealth games of 1958, his popularity catapulted to higher levels and he was invited to various countries. There was an Indo-Pak Sports Meet which he was reluctant to attend, due to his memories of Partition. But he was convinced to participate. Returning to his native place was a tumultuous experience. Mr. Singh visited his village and met his childhood friend. It was at this race that he was given the title of “The Flying Sikh.” Mr. Singh went onto participate in 80 international races, and won 77 of them.
Mr. Singh had met his wife in Ceylon and they got married in 1962. The couple now lives in Chandigarh. Mr. Milkha Singh shares he has cried three times in his life: when he saw his family killed in Kot Addu, when he did not win the gold medal at the Rome Olympics, and when he saw the Bollywood movie that has been made on his life. He wants to visit Kot Addu once again, and see his village. He is very hopeful of the future. His message to the world is to develop a strong will power, and fighting spirit.
This interview was conducted by The 1947 Partition Archive staff Prakhar Joshi.

Mr. Sher Singh Kukkal was born in a village in Azara District of West Punjab, now in Pakistan. Since his great-grandfather, there was a tradition of devotional music in the family. They used to indulge in devotional music Raagi, and played in the Gurudwara. His father Mr. Gurbaksh Singh also made sculptures, which got Mr. Kukkal interested in Arts. His mother passed away when he was just a few months old, and Mr. Kukkal was taken care of by his grandmother and aunt.
Mr. Kukkal lived in a village Bafa, which was nestled atop rocky hills. There used to be heavy snowfall and Mr. Kukkal remembers they had a bonfire at the centre of their classrooms during the winters.
The society in Bafa was very fond of performing arts. There used to be frequent theatre performances and musical shows. Mr. Kukkal explains how they connected all the terraces with wooden planks and prepared a large flat space. Temporary stage was made for performances. Mr. Kukkal mentions attending a live concert of the legendary Indian singer Mukesh. Kite flying was very popular amongst kids his age back then, and also gulli danda, wrestling etc. There were folk tales and devotional music was recited in Pashto language.
Mr. Kukkal’s school was a government one, with tin sheets for a roof. He recalls being taught by some British teachers, but otherwise the medium of instruction was Urdu. Punishments became fun in winters, since he loved playing out in the snow.
From hearsay, he learnt about some resistance activities against the British Rule in Amritsar and Delhi. There were rare political activities in their region. Once there was some friction between different communities, and the locals Pathan Muslims surrounded their house with gunmen to provide protection.
In 1947, many people started changing religions and identities. Before August, one night, there was a drum call and their Muslim friends warned them o an impending attack. They provided a truck and arranged for their transfer to a safe place. Since it was a Pathan truck, it would not be attacked, they re-assured. The Kukkal family adopted disguises and at four in the morning, left. Attacks had begun and some of their distance relatives were killed. The family left all of their possessions locked in the house, not knowing that they would never come back.
They had a house in a nearby town, Haripur. Haripur too was attacked and the family continued to live under disguised appearances to protect themselves. Mr. Kukkal describes looking at dead bodies on spears and lots of bloodshed on the streets. After a few days, at the crack of dawn, the family fled and Mr. Kukkal’s father decided to move to Gorakhpur in Uttar Pradesh, India. He chose the city because it was a center of metal works industry and there were job opportunities for him. During migration, they stopped over at many Gurudwaras across the Punjab to spend the nights.
Settling in Gorakhpur was difficult. Resources were extremely limited. Mr. Kukkal joined school in the seventh started, since he only knew Urdu, learning Hindi was challenging. 1960, he joined Art School at Lucknow University for a five year couse in Fine Arts, and later pursued a course in sculpture and photography. After a stint at teaching in Maharashtra, he went to Kabul, Afghanistan to work for rural development there.
In 1962, Mr. Kukkal married Rajender Kaur. Their wedding at Anand Bhawan, Allahabad was attended by Pundit Nehru. When he returned to India, he got busy with spreading an interest in arts amongst the youth. Now he works at the Nehru National Youth Centre, teaches arts and organizes exhibitions.
Looking back, he still sees visions of 1947-48, and gets very emotional. He plans to visit his village Bafa in the Norht West Frontier Province. Their relatives who chose to stay back in Pakistan in 1947, visit sometimes. He asserts that the coming together of arts and sciences is crucial for an all-round development of a modern society.

Mrs. Shobha Nehru, popularly known as Fori Nehru was born in Budapest on December 5th 1908 in a Jewish family; she was then known as Magdolna Friedmann. The changing political scenario in Europe in the late 1920’s led the family to change their last name Friedmann to Forbath. The family ran a business of toys and furniture. Due to the infamous Hungarian policy of Numerus Clasus, Mrs. Nehru was sent by her family to study in France and then later to England for university education. In England, Mrs. Nehru met and married a fellow student and moved to India. In India, Mrs. Nehru lived in Allahabad, Delhi Hissar, Ambala and Lahore amongst other cities before the Partition took place. Lahore holds a special place in her heart; it was the city where she got married and learnt to drive. They lived on Waris Road. In a short span of time, Mrs. Nehru took to India, became proficient in Hindustani, Indian food, customs and handicrafts. One of her early inspirations in India was Mahatama Gandhi.
Memories of Partition bring pain to Mrs. Nehru. She says. “The things that we saw and what we heard were terrible.” In 1947, she was asked to work in the Emergency Committee in Old Delhi and an Emergency room headed by Mr. HM Patel, ICS was set up by the government of India. Being the only woman member of the committee, she was picked up to go to work by Mr. Patel. Once, as they were driving through the deserted streets in Daryaganj, Delhi under curfew, she saw a man sitting with fresh vegetables. She jumped out of the car and bought all his vegetables. Like other Delhi residents, she had not seen fresh vegetables for weeks. A photograph of her sitting in the Emergency Committee Room with officers with a Ghia, a bottle gourd attests to this.
One of Mrs. Nehru’s most painful memories are of her when as a member of the committee, she sent off a train packed with refugees to Pakistan and the passengers were killed. She could not bear this and for a week would shudder at the thought of sending off another train. It was a terrible time. As a member of the committee, she wanted to purchase buckets for the Muslim refugees in Purana Qila but a Hindu shopkeeper in Old Delhi refused to give it for Muslims, who were responsible for murdering Hindus in Punjab. A stunned and deeply pained Mrs. Nehru ordered all buckets from the shops in Old City be purchased for the refugees.
Mrs. Nehru’s Muslim bearer like many of their friends migrated to Pakistan. She could not believe the times, life was never the same. Today, her children are friends with the children of those friends who migrated. At the same time, Mrs. Nehru’s mother in law, Mrs. Rameshwari Nehru refused to leave Lahore until all the women refugees in the camps were evacuated. Neither Mr. Jawaharlal Nehru not her son could make her leave. Eventually, the family’s Muslim friend in Lahore managed this difficult task.
Mrs. Nehru also helped start a retail outlet, originally called Refugee Handicrafts to give employment to the refugee women, in the hope to give space for their creativity. Pandit Brothers, a store in Connaught Place lent them a large carpet for the same. In due course of time, she was joined by other handicrafts experts and the venture became a successful one. They moved to an evacuee shop in Barakhamba Road till 1952. Despite the refugee camps being dissolved, the production of their handicrafts continued and so did their sales. In 1952, Refugee Handicrafts shifted to the American barracks at Janpath and eventually got absorbed into the Central Cottage Industries Emporium.
Mrs. Nehru accompanied her husband to all the locations he was posted as a civil servant. She enjoyed living in the North Eastern States in India, Gujarat, and Kashmir where he was Governor of these states. Mrs. Nehru also accompanied her husband to Washington D.C., and London where he served as the Economic Minister at the Indian Embassy and High Commissioner, respectively. At an event in Washington, she remembers meeting the last Crown Prince Otto von Habsburg. She told him how she remembered seeing him as a baby with blonde hair.
At 105, Mrs. Nehru having witnessed the World Wars, Holocaust, and the Partition questions the idea of wars and violence. She asks, “Do you think there is any use of having separate states? Pakistan and India? No one anticipated violence. We saw the bad and the good of the human beings. On one side they talk about Hindus and the other, they talk about the Muslims.” She can’t forget her husband’s friend, Qurbaan Ali Khan, the former governor of N.W.F.P, Pakistan. She never cried in her life as when she heard him say about the days of the bloodshed, “tauba… tauba… tauba...”

Sushiri Motial, née Gupta, was born to Lala Bishindaas and Prakash in the Amira Kadal district of Srinagar on July 11, 1940.
The family would spend half the year living in their ancestral home in the Purani Mandi village of Jammu and the other half in Srinagar, Kashmir, where there father was a civil servant and eventually retired as deputy home secretary. He was later asked by Bakshi Ghulam Mohammad to start an anti-corruption department and also ended up in charge of the Maharaja trust in the Jammu and Kashmir state.
In Jammu they had a sizable five-bedroom house while in Srinagar they regularly switched between government accommodoations. This annual cycle of switching between the two cities was really the “greatest fun,” Mrs. Motial says, as they were always excited to move back and forth while enjoying the best climate of each.
He studied in Jammu and was fluent in Sanskrit, English, and Hindi. The family spoke Dogri at home and English and Hindi outside. Mrs. Motial once knew Kashmiri and Bengali (after having lived in Calcutta for thirteen years) but has since forgotten them both. Their family had strong “lotus roots”—fond of all things Kashmiri, its paneer, the chashma shai water, and a composite religious atmosphere that she will forever feel nostalgic for.
Mrs. Motial’s maternal grandfather was a rich jagidar originally from Lahore who died early, just before Mrs. Motial’s mother was born. Her father was the only child of fourteen to survive, so she had no cousins from his side, while the few from her mothers side only ever briefly visited.
Her father’s foremost focus was the education of his children. Accordingly, each of them have gone on to high achievement in life, getting Ph. Ds, becoming doctors, and so on. She herself has an M. Sc. in zoology and is a retired su jok practicioner. Her and her siblings were raised with a strict 10 PM bedtime and a 4 AM wake-up call after which they took a walk, jogged, and completed their homework. She was fond of running, playing ball, boating, and taking Sunday picnics. “Nobody just sat at home,” she says, even on their free days. She grew up with an elder sister and brother, as well as another two younger sisters and brother. Her father was an exceptionally strong character, she says—a simple man who remains an enduring influence in her and her siblings’ life. Candidates for jobs that he intereviewed would bring him gifts, only to be refused. No showing off—keep things simple and live a simple life, was his motto. Discipline and honesty underpinned his life and what he passed on to his children.
Their house was their temple. As their father was a great singer, he recited devotional bhajans and passed on the singing trait to his children. Mrs. Motial had Hindu, Muslim, and Sikh friends; her best friend was Sikh, her father’s best friend was Muslim. She remembers times when Muslims (even males, alone) would accompany her home late at night to make sure she arrived safely. These religious differences didn’t matter where she lived. She celebrated both Eid and Diwali with her family and Muslims friends —why shouldn’t they celebrate together when they lived together?
Her father’s Muslim best friend stayed behind in India even after his children and wife went to Pakistan to join the rest of their family in Lahore and Rawalpindi. The best friend illegally crossed the border and was arrested on a number of occasions trying to see them. She remembers a dramatic episode in which he came to her sister’s wedding in handcuffs, after convincing the police that he had to come and give his blessings.
“I can’t tell you,” she says, “how life in Srinagar—maybe the best in the world.” Though Partition was the first shock, everything bad in that region—that remains to this day—began in 1965.
The family was in Srinagar at the time of Partition. Before they left the city as tensions arose, her mother filled up their pockets with basics like dry fruit, in case anything happened and they were separated. There was so much burning in the city that the sky turned a red hue while on the ground friends became enemies. Her family was still welcomed by friendly Muslims though and they took refuge in their homes on their way to safety in a military store. The image of dead bodies piled on carts remains with her to this day. Their father collected gasoline in the hopes of killing attackers—or the whole family—before they tried lay a hand on his daughters.
Her ancestral village in Jammu became a battlefield in the days of Partition. Like that of so many others, her family’s property was all cleared out in the violence. Her maternal grandmother’s house was lost because it was on the Pakistan side of the border; her subsequent claim to the Indian government failed.
Her father lost his job soon after Partition because he went to drop his family in Rothak, Haryana where his friends were well settled. Mrs. Motial did not go to school for a year, while her mother stitched and knitted to work and keep herself busy at their friends’ home. When things calmed down following Partition, the family returned to their regular schedule of spending half their time in Srinagar and half in Jammu until things permanently worsened after the 1965 war.
She was married in 1963 to Virendra Singh Motial after a five-year engagement; their fathers were best friends. The Motials had three daughters, and she remembers hearing gunfire in when she was once feeding the first. Her husband said it was only fireworks, but the bullet marks on the side of a neighboring house confirmed what she had heard. Casualties in a nearby marketplace only added to their feeling that communal conflict had come to stay in the region. For the most part, changes in the region since 1947 have uniformly been bad, she feels. It’s sad that a few have been able to poison the whole place.
In 1967 she moved with her husband after he got a job in Lucknow. He then was posted in Calcutta for a time before returning to Lucknow again permanently. They both continue to visit Jammu and Kashmir, but each visit has been tinged with sadness for what has developed there since their childhood when it was a place to have lovely experiences for people of all faiths who felt no tension in eating from the same plate, the same apple tree.
What hurt most was in 1989 when someone in Srinagar after realizing who she was said, “This is not your Hindustan.” How could someone say that to her in the city where she was born, where she had been educated and married? In 1990 her best friend’s husband, a Hindu who owned a factory, was killed while living in a Muslim-dominated neighborhood. A cousin-in-law was murdered—after the house was demolished—when a group of Muslims felt disrespected. Friends in Jammu ended up in refugee camps after their homes were set on fire. Even Muslim friends have been caught in the crossfire though—the “sharif admi” (good man) has suffered regardless of faith, she says. “Understand your brother to truly be your brother,” she continues. “Think with your own brain. We should remain united.”
She can still visit Jammu but not Srinagar, regardless of the lovely memories she has of the city. She recoils and shudders when I ask her what image comes to her mind on mentions of Partition: it is the mother of a friend going mad and eating coal after the trauma of 1947.